Memories
by Frosteh
Summary: After the Marauders but before Harry. An incident that shows just how wizarding families suffered during the reign of terror when Voldemort was at the height of his powers. One shot. Rating for violent theme. [COMPLETE]


Disclaimer: All the characters in this story belong to me, and only I may play with them. But the idea of the Death Eaters etc. is J K Rowling's. Okay? Good.

MEMORIES

A young boy was lying beside the fire in the living room, watching TV with his chin cradled in his hands. It was late evening and he had been allowed to stay up to watch a particular film, which the five-year-old was quite pleased about. His parents sat on the sofa and watched as well, talking softly; he wasn't really listening but they sounded happy enough, so he didn't worry about it.

The boy is named Mikhail Hadori. His Irish father is a wizard called Padraig, and his Russian-English mother is a witch called Elena; he is their only child.

Mikhail returned his attention to the TV and the film, becoming completely absorbed in the story again. Although very intelligent and quite perceptive for a five-year-old, he completely missed the shadows of worry that coloured his parents' voices and tightened their eyes, and they were very careful to keep it from him. But there was a lot to be worried about; recently his father had done a small service for a group of people known as the Order of the Phoenix. Mikhail knew that, but he didn't know who the Order was, and took only a passing interest in what his father did anyway; the Ministry was all rather boring to him.

But now Padraig was reasonably certain that someone at the Ministry had learned what he had done, and it would only be a matter of time before the other side learned of it. Once the Death Eaters and their master learned who was responsible then they would come for him and his family; which was why he had been making phone calls all week and tomorrow the three of them were going to visit friends in Ireland; a friend would come and help them get organised in the morning.

Both he and his wife were relieved that it was settled, but still they were worried; sooner or later they would be caught. The only real way to ensure any safety was to become fully involved in the Order and claim sanctuary at their Headquarters, wherever it was. Otherwise the Death Eaters would eventually find them and kill them. Every day the Daily Prophet reported another murder, whether of Muggles or wizards. They discussed it now in low voices so as not to interrupt their son, still completely enthralled by his film; did they become drawn in to the Order, unable to leave once they reached that point, or did they run and almost certainly be caught?

The couple both wanted to help fight Voldemort, but they were also scared, like so many other families. They had Mikhail to protect if he was to grow up, and they feared for their own lives too. The only family they had left was each other, and now it seemed their days were numbered; and over such a small thing. Padraig had merely passed on some information, nothing more; but apparently that had been enough to allow the Order to thwart a major plot of some kind. Neither of them knew the details, and didn't want to know, but now the Death Eaters had a name: Padraig Hadori.

Meanwhile, as his parents conversed in low tones across the room, Mikhail was becoming really interested in the film. It had horses in it as well; he liked horses, and his father had promised that when they went to Ireland they would go and visit a ranch where they bred racehorses. He was growing sleepy, actually, but after arguing long and hard to be allowed to stay up late he wasn't going to let himself fall asleep yet. Besides, he wanted to find out what happened.

A few minutes later there was a really loud bang outside. Startled, he looked up, and then around at his parents. "What's that?" he asked curiously. His mother and father exchanged glances and listened a moment; when nothing else happened they relaxed. His mother smiled at him and replied softly, "Just a firework somewhere, I think." Reassured, he turned back to the screen, and didn't even look up when another bang came a few minutes later across the street.

When another sound came, this one from the back garden by the sound of it, his parents began to look worried. Glancing at them, he realised something was wrong and sat up slowly. Not sure what was going on, he looked from one to the other uncertainly. "It doesn't sound like a firework," he stated, biting his lip nervously as he saw fear in his mother's eyes.

They spoke to one another in rapid Russian; Mikhail was learning the language, but slowly, and he couldn't follow what they were saying. Finally his parents stood up and began to cross the room, but a burst of green light flashed against the curtains from outside the window and his mother almost screamed, biting back the sound. His father said sadly, "There's no time," which didn't make sense.

"No time for what?" Mikhail asked uncertainly, staring at his parents who were looking at each other. Seeming to come to an agreement, they looked sad but strong, somehow; Mikhail didn't know the word 'determined' but if he had he would have used it to describe his parents. "No time for what?" he repeated more loudly, feeling scared suddenly. He didn't understand what was happening. His mother hushed him, looking at his father, who finally said, "It's a long shot, but they may not know of him." Nodding, his mother came over to him and knelt on the rug, her eyes serious. Afraid, he looked at her for reassurance; the look on her face frightened him. He sat up and listened carefully; she was speaking very quietly.

"Mikhail, listen to me. I need you to do something for me. I want you to go into the dining room and get into the little corner by the cupboard, furthest away from the glass doors." He tried to ask why, but she hushed him and continued speaking; her eyes were full of tears. Knowing it was very serious, he listened. "Once you get there, curl up small and stay very still. Don't say anything and don't move, no matter what happens; don't come out. Do you understand?"

Nodding, fighting back the urge to cry – he was too old to cry – he whispered, "Yes, Mama." His father came to join them from where he had stood at the window. "This is important, Mikhail. Promise us you won't move or make a noise." Sniffing, he nodded. "I promise."

His parents both knelt next to him and put one arm around him and one arm around each other. He hugged them both, feeling scared and confused; but he didn't ask what was happening, He would do as they had asked him. Then they told him they loved him; he tried to smile and whispered that he loved them too. Then there was a pounding on the door and a rough voice shouted to be let in. "Go!" his mother whispered, and he scampered through the open glass door into the darkened dining room. Wedging his small body into the shadowy corner between the wall and the cabinet, he shifted so he could just see what was happening and watched silently, his fist in his mouth in case he accidentally made a noise.

His mother stood up, wiping her eyes, and stood next to his father. They both had their wands out, which Mikhail thought was odd; they lived in a Muggle area and the wands were usually kept locked away upstairs so he couldn't play with them. Then the door burst open and men came running in. They were dressed in black robes with hoods shadowing their faces, and they too had wands.

One of the men snapped, "You Padraig Hadori?" His father refused to answer. The man raised his wand and said something; Mikhail didn't hear it properly. Repeating the question, the man stared at his father, who nodded stiffly. "Does anyone else live here except you two?"

Padraig shook his head dumbly, honestly too frightened to speak, thanking the Lord that there were no photos of his son on display. They didn't know he had children; at least Mikhail would be safe if they didn't search the house. They could compel him to answer with the Imperius curse, as they had just done; they could not make him tell the truth except using a potion, which they didn't have. Numbly he asked, "What do you want?"

The men laughed. To Mikhail it sounded like the kind of laugh used by the baddies in the cartoons he watched on Saturday mornings whilst his parents were still asleep, the weird cackling laughter like the robot witch he had seen on Halloween last year. It scared him; he didn't like these men. "You know exactly why we're here, traitor," another of them said. He didn't know what 'traitor' meant, but it must be something bad.

Then one of the others lifted his wand and pointed it at his mother. He said something, "Crucio." Mikhail didn't know that word but a moment later his mother started screaming really loudly; eyes wide with terror, the boy shrank back into his corner and bit his fist to stop himself crying out. His father tried to break free of the man who held him, to go and help her; someone snapped, "Bind this fool," and ropes shot out of the first man's wand to hold his father still.

The screams stopped and his mother collapsed, sobbing, on the carpet. A moment later, she too was bound by ropes; his father was freed but before he could move the man who seemed to be in charge said, "Crucio," again and this time his father started screaming. When it stopped, he sat up, trembling, and asked, "What do you want us to say?"

The leader laughed. "Nothing, Hadori. We're not interested in anything you have to say. We were told to kill you, and we will, you and your wife; but we want some fun first." Mikhail's teeth sank into his fist as he struggled to keep silent like he had been told, so scared he couldn't move even if he'd wanted to.

The screams started again, and tears began to run down the frightened little boy's face as he watched in horror, unable to look away. The TV set was playing the theme music for the end of the film now, the tune out of place with the violent scene in front of the set.

It seemed a long time later when the screams stopped again, his parents' voices hoarse now. In reality it was probably less than an hour; they couldn't do this for long without someone overhearing. But it seemed like half the night had passed for the small boy huddled in a corner, body shaking with silent sobs. "The neighbours are home," someone reported from by the window. The leader swore. "We'd best leave. The Dark Lord will not be pleased if this is discovered too soon. Kill them." Turning, he said coldly, "You shouldn't have betrayed us, Hadori."

One of the others raised his wand and pointed it at Elena, who wiped tears of pain from her face and stood straight. Terrified witless and knowing she was about to die, she would not let them laugh at her fear. Glancing at her husband, she tried to smile; their son was safe, and she loved him. Padraig somehow found it in him to return her smile; then the one with his wand out said softly, "Avada Kedavra."

Mikhail saw green light flash, and his mother collapsed silently to the floor. Her eyes were wide and staring and she did not move. The man repeated the strange words. More green light, and his father too fell. Then one of them went outside; Mikhail could see him through the window and distantly heard him shout, "Morsmordre!" Something shot from his wand into the sky, but he didn't see what it was. Then the hooded men wearing black robes left, disappearing with loud bangs like he had heard earlier.

Almost half an hour passed in total silence before Mikhail dared to move. Sobbing, he squirmed out of the tiny cramped space, his body stiff and sore. Crawling across the floor towards his parents, he found them cold and they wouldn't answer him when he touched them or spoke. Dimly he understood they were dead; Mikhail's experience with death so far, apart from TV, was when their rabbit had died. He knew what death meant, but this was his first real experience when he was old enough to understand.

Not knowing what to do, the small boy finally moved over to the wall behind the door, something telling him he should stay out of sight of the windows. Curling up tightly, he stared at the bodies of his parents, shaking and sobbing until he finally slid into a tormented half-sleep filled with nightmares of what he had seen.

Five years and almost a hundred miles away, the ten-year-old boy now known as Michael Haden woke up in his bed in the dormitory-like room he shared with three others at the orphanage with tears running down his face. Sliding out of bed, he padded to the half-open window and stared out over the rooftops of the city outside, the street lamp lighting the tears on his cheeks as he let the night breeze cool his hot face and dry his tears. Wiping his eyes on his sleeve, he swallowed and stayed there until he had stopped crying.

He had been found when their Irish friend came by the next day as arranged. She had arranged for funeral plans and so on but she could not take care of a small boy; still, it was her money that paid for his keep in the Muggle orphanage. Everything his parents owned had been sold, and the money rested in their vault at Gringotts now for his use when he came of age. Their friend was a witch, and she had explained things to him; when he was eleven he would almost certainly be accepted into Hogwarts, but for now it was much safer if he lived as a Muggle. If he didn't get into the wizarding school he would attend the local comprehensive, but there was no doubt in Mikhail's mind; he would get in, and he would learn, and he would find out who had killed his parents.

And when he had found them, he would make sure they paid, somehow. Wiping his eyes and drying his face, he looked up at the distant stars. Three months until his eleventh birthday.

END

I might have a few more stories about Mikhail. Whether or not I ever write them is another question altogether. If you liked this story, review and tell me so. If you didn't like it, then review and tell me why. If I get any useless reviews along the lines of, "omg u suck I h8 ur story u retard" then you will be mocked and derided throughout the whole of our beloved ff-dot-net. Even flames are welcome as long as they are amusing.

Frosteh loves you


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